


blue monkey

by 101places



Series: aos pride [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Content Warnings in Author's Note, Gen, Trans Character, Trans Fitz, Trans Male Character, fitz is also autistic but thats more in the subtext here, just know i wrote this with that in mind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 12:17:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19084858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/101places/pseuds/101places
Summary: Snippets from Fitz's childhood as a trans boy.





	blue monkey

**Author's Note:**

> happy pride! i wanted the first pride fic i wrote to be more uplifting, but i wanted to start with fitz so i suppose this was kind of inevitable^^; this does have a more uplifting ending though & other pride fics i have planned for this month are a LOT happier!
> 
> content warnings: transphobia, toxic masculinity, emotional abuse, parental abuse
> 
> as always, kudos & comments are appreciated! i hope you enjoy!

Fitz was five years old, and around him were raised voices. This wasn’t particularly uncommon, but the fact that he had been the cause this time made him hide under the blanket, holding his favourite monkey plush tight, willing the noise to just _stop_.

Eventually, he wish was granted, and the angry voices began to calm down, but Fitz still didn’t move. He had been crying, and knew that if he was seen in this state the shouting was likely to start up all over again. So, instead, he tried to calm his breathing and wiped at his cheeks. He managed to get his state back to relative normality before the door to his room opened.

He didn’t take his head out from under his blanket, and instead held his breath as he listened to the door gently shut, and footsteps approaching him. When he recognised the pattern was more reminiscent of his mother than his father he let his breath out again. She was unlikely to yell at him.

She sat on his bed beside him, her hand gently stroking through his hair that was peeking out from under his blanket.

“Oh, ~~[redacted]~~ , I understand that the dress doesn’t feel nice, but you know that Auntie Leslie would be very happy to see you dressed up all nice and pretty.” She said, still trying to coax him into what had started the fight in the first place.

Fitz shut his eyes tightly and shook his head. “Don’t care how it feels. Don’t like dresses.”

“It’s only for one day. You won’t have to wear it again.” She continued.

Fitz shook his head more vigorously. “ _No_. Why can’t I wear a shirt?”

“That’s what the little boys are wearing.” She reasoned. “If it was up to me I’d let you, but your father’s side of the family like things to be more traditional.”

“Hate traditional.”

“You and me both.” She smiled gently and pressed her lips to Fitz’s temple. “Tell you what- if you wear the dress tomorrow and make Aunt Leslie happy, we can go to the zoo on the weekend.”

Fitz pulled the blanket down from his head an inch, squinting up at his mother. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Promise?”

She held out her hand, offering him her pinky. Fitz looked at it skeptically, before linking his pinkie with hers.

After releasing his hand, his mother gently wiped the remaining tears from his face and kissed his cheek, before standing and heading out of his room. “Sleep well, ~~[redacted]~~.”

Fitz laid back, and fell into an uneasy sleep, unable to work out whether it was more important to see his monkeys, or to not wear that awful dress.

 

.

 

Fitz was seven, and holding onto his favourite monkey plushie as he sat on a chair in the doctor’s waiting room. His mother was sat beside him, absently looking through a magazine. Further down the corridor was his father, gesturing empathetically to the clock on the wall while glaring at a receptionist. They’d been waiting for ten minutes after Fitz’s assessment, when the doctor walked back into the reception and indicated for them to follow.

Fitz rather liked the doctor’s room, with its brightly painted walls and fun toys. Without waiting for permission, he made a bee-line for them and began to play as the adults talked around him.

“Thank you for waiting.” The doctor spoke pleasantly, ignoring the way Fitz’s father scoffed. “I can now confirm that your child reaches the diagnostic criteria for gender identity disorder.”

Fitz’s mother glanced at her husband, but he didn’t return the look, so she turned back to the doctor. “What does this mean?”

“There is significant variation based on the individual, and it’s something that I’d advise you talk about to a gender specialist about- they can give you your full options with regards to transition, though the waiting list to access these services can be quite long.”

Fitz’s mother looked over at where Fitz was pretending not to pay attention to the conversation. “What can we do to support he- _him_ in the meantime?”

“Talk to him.” Was the doctor’s first answer. “Find out what would make him most comfortable. He knows more about his experiences than any clinician.”

The conversation continued as the doctor explained the basics to Fitz’s parents, and before long the three were leaving the clinic, Fitz scuffing his feet along the pavement as he walked, keeping his gaze down. He could feel some tension between his parents, and didn’t want to do something that could cause it to rise further.

They managed to get back into the car before Fitz’s father spoke.

“So, you want to be a boy?” He asked, looking at Fitz through the rear-view mirror.

Fitz pursed his lips together and shrugged.

“Answer me.”

“I guess.” Fitz spoke after a moment, staring out of the window.

His father regarded him, then reached out and snatched Fitz’s monkey from his lap. Fitz looked over at him in alarm.

“Then I suppose we should treat you like a boy.” His father decided, putting the monkey away in the glove compartment as Fitz stared in horror. “Little boys don’t carry around stuffed animals.”

“Alistair,” His mother tried to diffuse the situation, “You know that he needs his comfort objects.”

Fitz’s father scoffed and set the car into motion. “‘Comfort objects’- do you have any idea what you sound like? You’ve spoiled _him_ for too long. That’s why he’s turned out like this, your constant smothering.”

Fitz blinked back his tears as he stared at the window, trying to work out how a day that was supposed to be good had ended so poorly.

 

.

 

It was a year later when Fitz was stood in the living room, staring at the piece of paper in his hands with big eyes. This made it official. His name wasn’t ~~[redacted]~~ anymore, anywhere. He actually had a name that he could give people to call him now.

“Well, boy?” His father prompted.

Fitz looked over at him with a smile and tears in his eyes. “This is the best thing ever.”

 _Leopold_ was never a name that Fitz would have chosen for himself, but at only eight years old he had no problems with that. He was just happy to have a name that felt like his.

“Boys don’t cry.” His father spoke roughly, noticing his wet eyes.

Fitz blinked back his tears, not noticing the way his mother looked away sadly.

 

.

 

Fitz was ten, and things in his house had been escalating terrifyingly over the past two years. His father’s violence and angry streaks became more and more frequent, and tonight everything had reached a level that Fitz hadn’t imagined before, which had led to him barricading himself in his bedroom and curling up in the corner with his hands over his ears, trying to drown out the sound of shouting and banging and threatening coming from the other side of his door.

Hours passed before the noise died down and Fitz felt it was safe enough to deconstruct his barricade, quietly leaving his room and creeping down the stairs to find out about the aftermath of that explosion.

He found his mother on the sofa, looking more exhausted than she had ever looked before. She looked up when she heard him approach.

“Leo,” She spoke gently, petting the sofa behind her. He didn’t need to be invited twice, taking the seat and curling into her side. “I’m so sorry that happened.”

“S’okay.” He replied, his voice muffled against her.

“No. No, it’s not.” She stroked her hand through his hair rhythmically, helping him to calm down. “That should never happen, and it won’t ever happen again.”

He squinted up at her. “What do you mean?”

His mother sighed, and hesitated, struggling to find the words to explain to a child something this complex. “Your father has… he’s left for good.”

Fitz looked away. “Was that my fault?”

“No.” She spoke immediately, “Leo, listen to me: None of this has ever been your fault.”

Fitz pressed his face into her side again and shut his eyes, but he couldn’t get rid of the thought that this was his fault. Perhaps if he’d been better at being a boy, this wouldn’t have happened.

 

.

 

Fitz was sixteen and sitting cross-legged on the floor of Simmons dorm as she bounced around, excitedly talking about something-or-other. Usually, he’d be hanging off of her every word, but today he was too preoccupied with his anxiety around the event they were preparing for to pay too much attention.

He had the option not to attend, of course. He always did. But Simmons wanted to go so desperately, and though they had only known each other for a few months, he rather felt that he’d follow behind her anywhere.

It was just _this event_. Pride. He’d never been to the parade before, and the thought of it was just a little bit terrifying to him. His identity as a trans man wasn’t something he was extremely open about, with Simmons being the only person he had directly told. After his father’s treatment of his gender, part of him had always been afraid that people would see him as less of a man should they find out that he wasn’t cis.

With Simmons, he didn’t feel as if he had to worry about this, but everyone else…

Simmons suddenly stopped talking and crossed the room, crouching down in front of him. She was holding something in her hand, though from this angle he couldn’t see what it was.

“I saw a stall a while ago and picked this up for you. I thought you could put it on your bag, or, um, something.” She held out what she was holding. It was a small trans flag. She continued quickly: “Only if you want to! I- um- this is for you, so obviously it is _up_ to you. You shouldn’t feel pressured into doing anything you don’t want to do.”

Fitz took the flag, holding it in his hand and looking down at it with a slight smile.

For Fitz, his gender was a sensitive topic, and right now it wasn’t something that he was willing to share with anyone aside from his mother and his best friend but, he decided, as he carefully put the flag into his bag, even if it wasn’t something he was ready to display loudly, there was something warm in knowing that he’d have people by his side should he ever change his mind.


End file.
